How to Kill a God
by Crocuta
Summary: The old gods have no place in a world that doesn't believe in them any longer. An ancient god calling himself Dean knows that he will never be remembered and his death imminent... until he receives a prayer from a tax accountant. Destiel, later Sabriel. Rated for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Ahh, fuck. _Dean_-"

Its been a long time since Dean heard his true name. A wild cry of his skin's human name cried above him and fingers twisted in his hair. He wasn't above sucking dick for handouts - the small feel of release and momentary gratitude keeping him alive another day. He took the other man's money out of habit rather than need, and climbed out of the car. Another night to live, breathe, night to stare up at that grubby motel room ceiling. Another night to wonder if it was his last one. He always imagined his last night alive would be with flowers at his feet, the feel of the wild around him, and sacrifices at his table, not living like vermin among humans. The rats from the gutter stood aside, letting a lord of the wild through to splash through the muck.

Animals always behaved pecularily around the wildling. When he slept out in street, he'd awake at dawn with pigeons flocking him. It's as though they sensed something they should naturally flock to was in their presence. Dean didn't mind, they made for better company than the humans he brushed elbows with. His dirty clothes and unkempt beard made most grab their children's hands tighter and rush them off in the opposite direction.

He was close to passing through the shadow gate, never to darken this earth again. He could feel himself fading. Fading in the truest meaning of the word - he could feel his core loosen with every breath - like atoms of smoke dissapating in the wind. Dean knew in his heart of hearts that he wouldn't be around much longer. He couldn't even remember his truest name, nor what he was god of anymore. He was so close to death, he could feel its cold breath blowing on his neck.

The god didn't get somber over this fact. He outlived and outsmarted as many of his kind that he knew. Most retreated into their wild places, folding into obsucrity - an unremembered god, was a dead god. Dean went into the arms of the humans that were killing him, doing what he had to get by. He had met Death once before he became immortal and did not care much for the too-thin pinched man who came to collect him.  
The god wiped another man's drying cum from his lips. He'd have to find another corner soon. He tricked a few nights on it, and he didn't have enough strength to even manipulate a few weakwilled lawmen anymore.

The night was getting late, the end of the cars at the corner drove past. The store fronts began to chain their doors for the night, he darted in latenight restaurant to try and get an apple pie for his nights work. The woman's eyes softened in sympathy at the half-shaven, dirty faced, woe begone man in her section. She pressed a second piece of pie on him in a paper bag, ushering him a long with a loud "Shhhh", with no extra charge. He tossed his pie on the table in his motel room, stomach churning his coffee and pie making him feel ill. There once had been a point in his life where humans gave him libation and food out of fear, not because he looked incapable of feeding himself. Dean didn't even need to eat, it was an activity for his own pleasure anymore.

Disgusted, he felt himself loosen and tire. He kicked off his muddy boots and crawled into the bed. Dean had no other clothes to change into, he just climbed into the bed and let his wet clothes soaked into the sheets. He was just so grateful for a roof over his head from the pouring rain. There was a time in his life where he would have bathed himself in the rain, and drank from open sky. Instead he had to bathe under the chemical manwater from the shower. He had their stink in his noses as soon as he woke up. He breathed in the harsh fumes of their city. Every day he heard the earth and the weed's choking cries around him. Mindlessly begging for their torment to end. Stop man from yanking them from the ground and building over their children. Couldn't he just make them stop? He drank in the hate he felt radiating off of each human towards one another.

The man beast was poisoning the old god.

As soon as his eyes closed he saw a forest explode around him. It was always the seem notdream. Milky lakes with stars reflected in them, branches breaking softly in the brush, long grass tickling around his legs. Scenes of his life replaying out as his human body slept. The color seeped from his memory. The smells of rain on a warm breeze flooded his nose, prey taste flooded his mouth.  
This would be a good place to die. Here he didn't have to think about the piss stained motel mattress he lay on, or the sounds of moaning from next door, or how bone-achingly cold he was. Here there was the perfume of a summer in blood, the drum beats of many hearts revering him, the golden sunrise warming him. Here he couldn't smell his sickly fear scent. If he had to die, this was a good a place as any.

He basked in the warmth of the sun, even here he could feel his fear. It was fear of not knowing what came after the darkest between that clawed in his chest. Perhaps he should have felt relief that came with demise. There was no place in this world for a god who was not remembered. After a time, there would be no flower perfumed summers - no springs fit enough to bathe in - no stars to be seen over him as he slept. He knew this as fact, and a god's knowledge never lied. There would be no place for him in this world without the wild things that he governed He was living on borrowed time, stretching his miserable existence for longer than it should have ever lasted.  
He felt it like the tingling before a horrible burn tracing over his skin. Dean braced himself for the dreadful combustion - but instead he felt a small tugging in the middle of his heart. The god's eyes flew open, only to be greeted with the dirty motel room once more. The stink of rot and roach pressed heavily around him.

The same little tug flooded his chest. A warmth pulsed through his veins, returning the feeling to his fingers and toes. "_Wildling_" came a gravelly whisper in his ears. Dean's heart stopped, eyes wide. It had been so long since he had heard a prayer in his ears. "_Provider of the Star Bear's Strengt_h" continued the voice, nourishing him. Dean doubled over, the feeling so intoxicating he could barely stand. "Lord of Wild" The warmth turning into a violent bubbling under his skin. So many generations passed since he felt such a prayer. One with conviction, with burning need for assistance, for Dean himself. For - "_An Yz_" came the muffled cry in his ears.

The god crumpled with relief. He let himself kneel on the floor basking in the feel of some of his faded return. At one point in his longlife time he would have scoffed at just one reverent whisper in his ear - but this rejuvenated him like nothing he had ever felt before. It had been so long since he heard his true name spoken so plainly to him. It made his heart hammer and his blood pump at impossibly fast. The bear god was remembered when even he could not recall his own divine purpose.

These weren't the New Age prayers to attract a lover and to pass judgment on a scorned one. There were no quarters cast and commercial candles begging his attention. This was soul nourishing prayer, it tasted like the blood of the hunt on his lips. The fear, the wild need, the primal prayer of his protecting power. It was almost too much for the once forgotten god to handle. His limbs splayed out under him, weak with the frenzied energy returning to him. The only thing keeping the god from crying out was the sound of his savior's voice in his ear.

The old god heard snippets of prayer everyday. They were usually a "god dammit or unspecific prayers of "whoever's listening I need help" that he picked up like a bad radio frequency. They were easily dismissed and only served to turn his stomach. But this, this voice crying out to him was beautiful enough to have him marvel through the pain. With his new-found strength Dean let his spirit soar through the farthest _between_ to the source of the beautiful song in his ear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Whao I didn't think anyone would like this! This is my first ever ff :D And its unbetaed, so all of these atrocious mistakes are all mine for the taking. This chapter takes place in the day slightly before you're introduced to Dean. Story is mine, slight concept of An'Yz r mine, everything noPE. I have no idea what I'm doing. **

Castiel Novak didn't particularly enjoy the city. The sidewalks were constantly filled with puddles that flooded his boots, the people were always packed as his side like the Borough was a giant sardine can, and he hated that sense of smallness he felt looking up at the highrises. He could't stand the sense of fear he knew he would feel later when he would walk home in the dusk. He's home block wasn't a great area, but who could afford anything great on one salary? He was lucky enough to have his shoebox atop his buildings 17th floor - thought he had a sinking suspicion it was because he kept the floor's sinks in working order.

He stopped to toss his change for coffee into a man's upturned hat. His cardboard sign proclaiming "The End is Incredibly Nigh", the man old - weathered - and quite obviously unable to walk. The man's face crinkled into the biggest smilie Cas had ever seen. "Oh you angel. I thank you - I thank you". Castiel just waved him a farewell, making a mental note to take this particular route tomorrow - it was almost nice being noticed in such a huge city.

Castiel settled at his workdesk, trenchcoat draped over the back of his chair - tie damp from weak office coffee being spilt on it he attempted to drink instead of his normal dark roast. He had a ton of invoices to send up to the other office, tedious work and horrible paying. But his hours reliable, Castiel really couldn't complain. He propped himself up on an elbow, letting his attention wander. He mindlessly checked all of his social media, the news, and with a last ditch effort to avoid working his email. The only emails he ever received were chain ones from his uncle, and the occasional few from his brother Lucifer showing off his news works of art as a tattoo artist. Instead of the normal spam sat a big bold, unopened email from his father.

Castiel didn't bother with his family with good reason. Two years ago he fled to New York to be hidden in its huge population. Two years ago he decided he was done being beaten and held under water in the name of "God". Six years ago he came of the closet. His family, while religious was extremely loving, he never could have anticipated the torture that could inflict upon him for something so simple.  
He hadn't planned on coming out. Castiel Novak had boyfriends underwraps in the past, nothing serious and never lasting very long. He had his younger brother Gabriel confide in him that he liked Sam at his school, constantly fretting about his father cutting of his future college funding if their father ever found out. Castiel had come out to test the waters for his baby brother, to take the brunt of the horror for him. He hadn't gone to college, working instead. Gabriel had Sam to protect, but Castiel didn't need to worry about anyone else. He thought he could handle this for Gabriel's sake.

It took a long time before Gabriel was able to look at him in the eyes again. There were constant assaults on Castiel until he left. His last night there was more than anyone could bear. He could still hear his father screaming about his unnaturalness until his father pushed and held him under the water in the full bath tub. "Jesus wash away his deviant ways in the name of the father, son, and holy spirit." The religious man was drunk, not noticing that the bubbles were trickling slower and Castiel's thrashing under his arms was growing weaker.

When Gabriel finally fought their father off in the bathroom, Cas blacked out. Gabriel pounded on Cas's chest ignoring his father's screams, until Cas finally came around puking impossible amounts of water. That night Gabriel helped him pack. "This is all of my fault," he said around a lollipop in his mouth. Cas silenced him with a look, "You needed to know. You want to go to medical school, I just want to make work. I never was cut out for college." Gabriel didn't know what to say, and just contented to folding a pair of Castiel's jeans. "I've got enough money to get away and to find a job. As soon as I find somewhere you'll know, and hell Lucifer can come over and even you can see him.

Gabriel brightened at that, neither of them had seen their older brother Lucifer in a long time. Their father kicked him out about with his unholy "marked skin" and "never will go to heaven" nonsense. Lucifer went on to apprentice as a piercer and tattoo artist, and moved on to open his own studio. If Lucifer didn't need his family to make a life for himself, Castiel didn't either. Cas steeled himself with that notion as he snuck out that night, and drove as far as his could car could take him.

The email was like a punch to the gut. Cas wrung his hands nervously, his father knew his email. Somehow the fucking Jesus Warrior tracked him down, thankfully Cas didn't have a cellphone or he'd imagine he'd be in store for an even more uncomfortable conversation. Cas sipped a new cup of coffee to settle his nerves before reaching a trembling hand to click on the message.

_Castiel,_

_We have a lot to talk about and a lot of catching up to do. I will be down Thursday next week._

_Zachariah._

Well shit. Cas buried his face in his hands and ignored the bustle of the office building around him. Fuck, his father knew where he lived - just how long was he keeping tabs on him? Cas knew it wasn't a bluff, if Zachariah had his email he must have found his facebook. His pictures, anagramed name, and city were all there for him to sweep in and see. Cas mentally kicked himself, he was so stupid to not think to make such things private. He just have been starting to come to peace with having to live in the city.

He took another sip of the watery coffee. Cas couldn't ignore the email, but he sure as hell didn't have to answer. He had a week to brace himself, and for now he had some invoices to send. He sent wild prayers to the God he was raised with towards the heavens, _If you stand for peace and love like you say Jesus. Protect me. Keep him away. _

Cas's frantic prayers remained unanswered.


	3. Chapter 3

**To answer a review, nope nope nope. Castiel is not a human, or anything fancy. Just a good ole human. HERE HAVE SOME MOAR.**

Castiel slumped into bed after his long, horrifying day. Desperate to distract his racing mind he leafed through his huge pile of library books and mail. Mail rarely changed, occasionally a letter from Lucifer with pictures, but today it was all junk. His books looked like they were begging to be read. Castiel Novak could honestly boast that he read their entire town library as a child - from children's fiction, to the impossibly thick encyclopedias.

The library in city was filled with floors of books, in two years of reading from their shelves he's scarcely made a dent. This week's collection stared at him from behind their plastic protective covers. Castiel eventually settled on a thick volume about primitive cultures. It helped to ease the troubles to learn about a simpler time, and to absorb himself in his learning.

Castiel poured over the mythological section. He always loved learning about different religions, it was always taboo in the Christian household he grew up in - so it made him thirst for that particular knowledge all the more. He read about fertile goddess mothers, creating fathers, death personified and revered - until his eyes rested on a name with only a small amount of information.

_An'Yz: aspects: bravery in battle, nature, protection._

A good portion of the book remained, but Castiel could not stop rereading the same sentence. Bravery in battle. "If this isn't a battle in my lifetime, then I don't know what is". He traced the name with a finger. He was raised to fear and disgust even the site of other false idols, but The One True God hasn't exactly laid down his sword for Castiel in the past. The tax accountant dog earred the page and clicked off the reading lamp. It was hours before he slept, wondering if some higher power out there even gave a fuck.

The next morning Castiel left a few minutes earlier for work, giving himself ample time to pack a lunch for the Broad Street homeless gentleman. His own lunch was a bit scarcer that day to give the poorer man more. If the grizzled man could have stood he would have embraced the accountant in gratitude. "I knew you were an angel" he said thick with spit between bites of tuna. "Take care of yourself," was all Castiel said, leaving the man with a smile on his face.

Castiel was strangely calm as he settled himself at his cubicle. He drew strength from the library book tucked into his briefcase, when he felt himself particularly fearful he picked it up and reread the same small passage until he felt the knot in his stomach unclench. He was even felt brave enough to open his email and delete that little bastard message from his father.

Work was quick today, with most of the other office in a meeting. He found himself idling online and searching quite a few things he never would have dared living with his father. He didn't have to worry about his boss crawling through his google history with the gentleman in cubicle D-31 playing Call of Duty. Castiel punched in a few keywords and found snippets:

_Worshipped by early man. Said to embody the strength of the bear's the so feared, bear prints were painted onto homes to ensure their protection. _  
_A lord of the greenmantle. Invoked with entrails reading. Renowned for savage protection._

Castiel held the words _savage protection_ close to his heart. He tried to not feel too terribly silly finding comfort in historical texts.

It had been a long time since Castiel prayed. The words always fell lame from his tongue, leaving him with a guilty pit in his stomach. hen he was perhaps 11, he prayed every night. He sobbed to God take 'wrongness' away from him so he could be allowed in Heaven. Obviously his prayers remained unanswered.

This, however, didn't feel as shallow as the whispered prayers to his father's God. Castiel settled himself at his desk by the window, his head bowed out of habit. He awkwardly folded his hands over his library book and opened his mouth to pray. Instead of the fear and aphrenhesion he always he felt addressing a judgmental celestial beging - he felt at ease. Castiel gave words to the fear in his heart with no inhibition, his eyes screwed up against his hands, and his heart seemed to hammer out of tune.

_Look. I know I don't usually pray, to anyone who gives a fuck anyway. I've been too afraid that I was going to be smote into the ground for not fitting into the Old Testament way of thinking. I don't know much about you An'Yz. I'm probably being a nuisance, but what I know is you help win battles. By god I'm in a battle, I've never been so afraid. Provider of Strength, lend me yours. _

_I wasn't brave enough to stay, I fled, and here come my fears to catch me. I am so alone in this. Please, if you can, help me. I just don't want my Father to scare me anymore._

Castiel was surprised to find tears spill over the corner of his eyes. But not as surprised as he was when he turned to see someone else in his living room.

The god hated traveling that way. It made his landings messy, and he always felt his inner ear spinning around for days. But, to follow the sources of those fucking nourishing prayers led him states away. He found himself in a cramped apartment. He was a few steps away from his savior who was praying feverntly into his folded hands. It was so fucking beautiful, the Bear God sighed in contentment.

It had been so long since he heard something so hushed, and trusting in his ear. He could almost hear the ache in the other man's heart that needed a diety's strength to soothe it. He felt his cheeks turn red under his freckles, he was flushed with returning power. Being trapped in his simplest form - human, for far too long. As the mortal's prayer progressed the god's eyes glowed an unnatural green. The hum of his power was almost audible as the beast under his skin pressed to the surface and broke.

The god didn't need to look at his palms to know that his pawpads were forming for the first time in decades. His already curved legs became pronounced, making him far shorter than a god should be. An Yz's torso was bare, it was covered in primitive needlework tattoos - the thanks of his now dead people. His nails knitted into claws, a rich brown and deadly. He felt the tingle of his power creep to his face. Dean kept very quiet as his teeth sharpened and jutted from his lips, not wanting to interrupt the beautiful sources of reverence whispered in the room. A bear pelt was draped over his head and down his back, the pelt of his former body. He couldn't hold this shape for long, but man did it feel good to truly stretch his legs again.

The god ran his hands over his body, savoring the calloused feeling of his clawtips. It was real. Truly real. Not some half dreamed nonsense. This must be some hell of a mortal praying, he fueled the God as well as the sacrifices of best kills and newborns as was in his past. The prayers halted. The god held his breathe as he saw the bluest eyes he ever seen turn on him.

Oh gods above and below. That was the most beautiful soul he had even seen in his days walking the Earth. It practically glowed and danced behind those eyes, if the other man didn't suddenly stand in alarm he would have stared into those depths trying to learn every facet of it. Analyszed it, tasted it, and try to learn what caused that flavor of bioluminescence. "Who-" the gravel whisper started, but faltered as his eyes took in what was really before him. The mortal sunk back into his chair, mouthing "oh".

_"Oh."_


	4. Chapter 4

**This was totally 95% written via text message emailed to my self because I was so bored somewhere ; hehehe... This chapter is split into two parts. The more deelishous bits will be updated sometime tonight. The song that gets mentioned in here is Dance of Death by Iron Maiden. :U**

Castiel didn't believe his eyes, he saw something staring back at him - so intently he felt like he would burn up under the gaze. He knew in the pit of his soul that this was Anyz never mind the pelt draped across the diety's shoulders, or the otherworldy glint to those vivid green eyes. Something tugged embarrassingly in his heart as he looked on at the man who seemingly appeared out of thin air.

"You called, I'm here" The god said gruffly through a mouth of pointed teeth. Castiel would have thought he had inconvenienced the deity, if not for the soft expression on his face. Dean's form was rapidly diminishing back into his most simple human shape. Before the excess of his power was removed, he grabbed the mortal's shoulders. He tipped his nose to the dark haired man's forehead, and dug his claws in.

Startled, Castiel tried to cry out in alarm but his mouth would only work furiously against the arms that held him in an impossibly tight grip, no sound could be heard. Castiel felt no pain where he knew blood was trickling, and his eyes felt blinded by the rush of power curling itself into his chest. He could not see the god's eyes that were glowing a furious forest-green, but he felt a growl rumble through Dean's chest.

What could have been a few heartbeats or a series of days, the forest god released his iron grip on Castiel. Castiel felt the surging of energy diminish. It felt tingling, like the skin would be raised as though burned - but no pain whatsoever. The god crumpled to his knees, the blessing clearly took a toll on him. His eyes were pinpointed into the distance, and he was panting like a wounded animal. He gripped at the mortal and struggled to stand. The last thing he remembered before his thought's turning black was the sensation of being lifted through the air.

It was a quick walk to the only bedroom in the efficiency apartment. Castiel had no trouble lifting the now-human deity into his arms and the few feet to the mattress on the floor. The human yanked off mud soaked boats from the god's feet and painstakingly tucked him in. His gut gave a slight flip from embarrassment, but he did his best to brush it off. He couldn't leave the god, a god who actually _gave a shit_, to freeze in the middle of his floor thank-you-very-much. Castiel stole a glance as he turned to leave. The shadows made the God's face more angular, somehow making him look smaller amongst the mismatched Goodwill sheets. Castiel's heart gave a violent surge of joy everytime the blankets gave a rise and fall, the small action somehow reassured him that what happened was very much real and he wasn't passed out on a bender somewhere.

Castiel gave one last searching look at the unconscious figure before going to busy himself in the kitchen. He wasn't any help here watching while the other man slept, and he really didn't relish the thought of being caught staring.

If this is what death felt like, then Dean wouldn't mind it so much. Through his swimming thoughts he relished the softness of the bed under him - the woody scent of the pillow underneath his nose. He was warmer than he'd felt in years, the steady hum of prayers in his ear wove their way around his heart, making him sigh out of sheer 's eyes fluttered open, only to be met with oppressive darkness. His eyes rang with ripples of gray and white as they fought to see in the blackness.

The low murmur of worried prayer brushed against his tendril of thought, making Dean's face turn flush. 'Cas,' he thought smugly to himself, "cares". At least until this mortal got bored with spirituality he didn't have to whole up in filthy motels and converse with the roaches. He didn't have to taste death every night in his dreams and wake up to the rotting stench of lipgloss and daddy issues from behind paper thin walls. Dean idly drew a fistful of blanket and held it to his chest. When the time came, he'd die living long enough to be remembered again and fulfilling the needs of others.

By the time his eyes adjusted, a sliver of light peeked from under the door. The telltale cumbersome footfalls gave away Cas' presence outside the door. The god was tensed like a gargoyle at the foot of the mattress. The wildling's green eyes stared wide with an unmistakable feral air. The sight of a filthy half wild man on his bed was almost enough to question his sanity. Almost. Shortly after settling the other man, he studied his tingling arm in the mirror. An animal print, no a bear print, seemed to be formed under red and bloody skin. Castiel couldn't explain it - and as his bigoted preacher liked to say "faith moves in mysterious ways".

Dean's muscles relaxed as he saw the dark haired man carrying a candle, obviously lit in his honor. It stank of gas-station and hooker perfume, but the gesture was appreciated none the less, he felt the little flame flicker in his chest. It melted some of the ferocity out of his movement. His gaze stayed transfixed on Castiel as he sat on the opposite side of the bedroom to sit on a threadbare paisley chair. Dean mimicked the motion, and settled back against the mound of pillows. Castiel picked a stray thread, examining it with a cold alien gaze. He tilted his head slightly as he inspected it, "I needed to say thanks". Castiel's words felt heavy as they slipped from his tongue. "Not many people seem to be listening, -". He paused, realizing that he hadn't been introduced outside of a few sentences in a book.

"Dean. Dean Winchester if you look at my forged birth certificate. Look enough of this chickflick shit," Dean insisted. Castiel's eyebrowns knitted together. In his experience God was supposed to be otherworldly and certainly very against swear words. This god looked as fragile as any other human, sprawled out in some seriously nasty hobo clothes, with a shit eating grin plastered across his face. "Nice to formally meet you then Mr. Winchester. I'm Castiel-" the mortal started, all politeness and airs that he learned in prayer-service back with his father.

"It's Dean or His royal fucking highness. Yeah, Yeah. You're Cas, Castiel - named after an angel by Daddy dearest. Bloodtype O. Can't stand the orange chicken from that place on First Ave," Dean prattled off the list as though he knew Cas his entire life. After catching the shocked look on Cas's face he gave a crooked grin and tapped two fingers over his heart. "You can't hide from a god's eyes".

Castiel surely hoped that he could hide his thoughts at the least, because they were falling into very nonprofessional territory. Cas coughed to cover his embarrassment."I'm surprised you're still here, don't make a mistake I'm very glad you are, but I thought omnipresent things had bigger things then an insignificant speck in NYC," Castiel wondered aloud. The look Dean gave Castiel positively tore his heart broken and bleeding from his chest. The god quickly looked down at his folded palms. "Can't lie, that was some pretty powerful prayers from someone who thinks they're a speck. Truth is, haven't heard anything like it since... Jesus. Yeah jesus is about sums it up." Dean relaxed under Castiel's stunned gaze, and folded his arms under his head.

"I don't have the oomph and pixiedust to just zap myself where I want. When I did earlier to get here, it about killed me," The wildling could almost taste Castiel's worry in the air. "If you don't feel like looking at my ugly mug I can find other places to be," Dean lied. He wouldn't like having to find somewhere in this city to go. Not so soon after being finding someone who _believed in him _and warming himself on those notions. Cas could easily imagine what gutters Dean slept in dressed like that. He rose to grab clothes from off the clean pile on his dresser. He tossed them to Dean. "I'd appreciate your company for as long as you can tolerate me. For the city, it gets quite quiet up here," he confessed, he turned away feeling the dam break in his chest. "If you go across the hall you'll find Manhatten's smallest shower."

Dean ran his hands over the well worn flannel pajama pants and tank. He pointedly avoided Castiel's gaze to avoid imposing on what clearly seemed like private emotion. "Yeah i don't need to be stankin up your bed anymore,"he mumbled. Dean rose and practically sauntered out of the room, hoping to lift the mood a little, after he closed the bathroom door behind him he heard a stifled giggle. Score one, Winchester.

Cas practically buckled under the strangeness of the day. He changed the mud streaked sheets and put on pajamas to try and coax some sense of normalcy through it all. There was a god probably as old as time showering in his bathroom like it was an everyday thing. Castiel lingered in the hall to listen to what sounded like singing.

_My free spirit was laughing and howling down at me_  
_Below my undead body_  
_Just danced the circle of dead_

_Until the time came to reunite us both_  
_My spirit came back down to me_  
_I didn't know if I was alive or dead_  
_As the others all joined in with me_

Castiel wasn't the most well-verse with music, but he could have sworn he heard Lucifer listening to something similar in the past. The heavy thud of soap hitting the floor turned the song into "come here you sunnuvabitch". The image of a very soapy Dean in the shower went quickly to work at turning Cas' cheeks red and sent his heart thudding.

Cas was nursing a beer on a beatup sofa when Dean came in rubbing half dressed and rubbing his hair with one of Cas' only towels. A strange feeling fluttered in Cas' chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

"Worse water pressure of my life pal," Dean complained as he dried his torso in the kitchen. "Comes with being 17 stories up in the city," Cas shrugged. Dean reached into the fridge, pulled out another beer, and settled on the other end of the couch like he's been doing in his whole life."I don't know about you, but I am absolutely famished," Castiel asked as he set his empty can down. Dean finished the last dregs of his before setting it down beside Cas'. "I can cook and earn my keep if you want" Dean suggested with an exaggerated wink. Cas fought a blush down that threatened to embarrass him. Dean's ears didn't miss the little prayer of _god..._ hook into his heart, making him reflexively swallow.

"I'd feel much better if you rested," Cas crossed to look into his mostly empty fridge and even emptier cabinets. Suddenly self-conscious he felt the need to explain. "I hate carrying groceries to far up when the elevator isn't very reliable," Castiel trailed off watching Dean pull on a shirt. "Now I know for a fact that NY had the best pizza. You call I'll buy. I hate talking to the pimply faced dorks who always pick up," Dean suggested. Waiting for Castiel answer, Dean started rubbing the stubble under his chin. "O-Of course," Castiel breathed.

Lombardi's Pizza lived up to delivery to their delivery motto of 30 minutes or less, and a very out of breathe delivery man showed up at the door. Dean pulled a wad of crumpled up bills with questionable fluids on them and tossed them to the pizza man who was starting to stare in. He clicked the door shut before the deliveryman could start hitting on him, or turn him into a lampshade.

A feral growl ripped through Dean as he sniffed appreciatively at the pizza. It instantly reminded Cas of what exactly was standing in his kitchen, behind the bravado of cocky grins and beer guzzling was a feral creature just beneath the surface."I wouldn't think, deitys would eat. I assume my presumptions are incorrect?" Castiel asked nervously while fiddled with a pack of paperplates. "I don't gotta as much as you, but by god is it satisfying. Where do you think libations go exactly? " Dean grunted and rubbed his stomach obnoxiously.

It was a bit surreal to be eating fucking pizza with his personal Jesus, and Dean picked up on Castiel's awe quickly, feeling it make his own heart flutter in sympathetic uncertainty. "Years ago there were so many of us. A god for every shrub, disease, need, Clan - you name it," Dean began to explain as he picking oregano from his teeth. "We walked the earth, living the high life, and you know lending our power when we could. Most of us were forgotten when good ole Jesus H. Christ came about. Don't get me wrong, he did a whole lot of good. Just some of his followers went a bit mental on the one-true-god-thing. So us lesser gods were apparently idols and were spurned I moved on, assimilated, I didn't wanna bite the big one just yet." Dean covered his lame finish with a larger-than-usual swig of beer.

The mortal was at a loss for words. He opted for tossing a second slice of meat covered pizza onto Dean's plate."You look dead on your feet, Dean," Castiel fretted. It was the first time the mortal spoke dean's name. Dean couldn't help watching Castiel's lips form the word, he felt Castiel's gaze burn into him. He was saved from an awkward moment by Cas's old school Nokia buzzing on the counter.

Dean leaned to look at it. "Someone named Gabe's calling. You should really replace that hunk of shit," he suggested around a mouthful of pizza. Castiel crossed to his cell. "It serves its purpose. I had a new one, for about a day until some punk robbed me. No one looks twice at this," he sassed. Instead of giving Dean the chance to scoff he hit talk and pressed it to his ear.

"CASSY" came his brother's excited yell that could be heard in the next state over. 'Cassy' Dean mouthed with a smirk. Cas blushed and set down on the couch. Dean grinned to himself and swept the crumbs off the counter, and threw the leftovers in the fridge. He felt pretty damn lucky to be under a roof tonight and he didn't want to be thrown out on his ass because he wasn't pulling his weight.

Dean stared at a single picture on the fridge. A husband and wife stood with their children in front of them. It was dated a few years back. His eyes passed over a girl with red hair, a young man with a lip ring, what he assumed was a young Cas, and a really goofy looking short kid. He reached and touched the tape holding the picture to the fridge, and nearly jumped when Castiel slid behind him.

His chest was to Dean's back, they were pressing perfectly into each other's curves with what should have been practiced ease. Castiel reached over Dean's shoulder to point at the picture. "This is my mother, who passed two years ago. This is in front of the Church of New Beginnings. Over there's Anna and Lucifer. That's Gabriel, I was just speaking with him." Castiel's gravelly voice was soft, and rumbled against Dean's ear making gooseflesh creep up his arms. Castiel stepped back to lean against the counter. "Fond of him?" Dean asked politely, trying to cover the slight shiver that crept over him. "He's always been the most supportive to me. He called to complain about APA style essays," Castiel explained. Dean nodded vacantly, he never indulged in educational pursuits so he was lost as a lamb in the slaughterhouse. "He's training to be a doctor. His 'gentleman' finally set on being a lawyer after waffling about it. He made a point to say he's coming to visit soon." Castiel gave him an apologetic look, not wanting to spring family on top of all this insanity. Dean only shrugged, unphased. Stranger things certainly have happened to Dean Winchester.


End file.
